


Swing kings

by laughingpineapple



Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: Bonding, Fluff, Gen, Vignette, cat shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-07-24 16:40:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16179017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple/pseuds/laughingpineapple
Summary: Cool cats, it's what they are. And unnecessarily dramatic at all times. And fond of solving mysteries. But mostly of being dramatic.





	Swing kings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Siver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siver/gifts).



Back in the day, the words “the cool cat in the Inspector's office” used to evoke the image of the Inspector himself, looking sleek and fly as he made short work of case files or whatever else was keeping him confined between those boring narrow walls.

Now, knocking at Cabanela’s door would net his underlings a mellifluous “Come iiin”, and they would follow that order only to find themselves facing the backrest of his leather chair. He had moved his desk against the wall opposite the door and would be tapping away at his typewriter to the rhythm of a jazz standard, or just tapping his fingers on the solid wood, frustrated by some case or another. Aware of their presence, he would swivel around with all the poise of a spy movie villain, finally revealing to his visitor's eyes his own illustrious self, his spotless white coat and, last but not least, a slender black cat sitting on his lap, which he would proceed to pet with calculated nonchalance. The cat would purr. The visiting detective would like to ask how it was possible for a black cat and a white coat to coexist, but then again, this  _ was _ Inspector Cabanela and they would know better than to question the impossible. So they would relay whatever bit of news had led them there and skedaddle out of that office, feeling like they had been blessed by the gods to live to tell the tale, and tell the tale they do. By coffee break, their visit to the Inspector's office has risen to mythical proportions - they could swear the beast was looking straight through their soul with those big yellow eyes of his, and the air was uneasy, like when a ghost is in the room. By lunchtime, the cat is even rumored to be one and the same as Detective Jowd’s over at the detectives’ division, those two are joined at the hip anyway, but that one has a red bandanna and this here wears a collar shaped like a pair of sunglasses.

So the legend of the cool cats of the Special Investigation Unit grows.

It isn't relegated to the office, either. Uniforms guarding a crime scene have grown accustomed to seeing Inspector and cat swagger in, chin up, tail arched, the latter struggling to fall in line with Cabanela's impromptu hops and twirls but proudly following along. When he misses a step, the kitten jumps at the chance to make a pass at the tempting red scarf billowing just within his range; when Cabanela feels that pawing (mercifully clawless: that cat is so well-behaved) he knows that his companion isn't keeping up, so he lets him lead for a while and pick their pace. They look at the body as if they were consummate partners working the case; the kitten jumps on Cabanela's shoulder for a better view and gives a timely meow as his human buddy voices a new theory on a possible cause for the murder. Coincidence, surely. At any rate, the critter sounds amused. Cabanela stretches his hand with the palm up and waits, humming a little tune and tapping his foot until a pack of bloodied letters - the evidence that proved his theory - falls from a nearby drawer right into his grasp. And that's another case cracked. Somehow.

This  _ is _ Cabanela they are talking about. Nobody questions a godsdamn thing.

Which is too bad, because an officer well-versed in Morse code and, on a good day, substitution ciphers, might be able to recognise a pattern in the purring that went on non-stop when the black furball was curled up in the Inspector's lap. Or in the wind chimes that inexplicably livened up his office even when the window was closed. Or in the buzzing of an insect that the Inspector did not shoo away from his desk. It would go like this: 

 

_ The case was as cold and sewn-shut _

_ as leftover stuffed chicken... _

 

_ But the last phone call _

_ had put it all back in the oven. _

 

_ What could it all mean? _

 

_ We wouldn't let fate catch us unprepared. _

 

_ So we left again, _

_ on another journey to the truth... _

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Established Cabanela & Sissel... what an eye-opener... wow. Thank you for this prompt... if I say "Sissel has three dads" I can already feel the foreign assassins breathing on my neck but maybe we can settle for Sissel having two dads and a cool uncle?


End file.
